january's over.

i spit hot fire.
actually,
i was using a burning stick to catch a cigar a little tiny bit on fire.

i spit hot fire?
nope again.
this time i dropped the camera a little and it got the fire in frame, too.

i spit hot fire!
or,
i chug on burning black phallic sausages.
in or out,
there's no smoke without fire.
and either way,
i definitely got 'the dragon'.
which, for all you suburban white people,
is archaic urban slang for stank-ass doo-doo breath. 
nothin' exemplifies an epic night of woodsly gooodness 
like breath so bad it gives you nightmares. 
for serious. 
you must be doing somethin' pretty gnarly,
to wake up with crying teeth. 
i'm sayin'.

an eleventh level, layered, log lambasting, laser lightning launchpad!
one of the best built bonfires in a long time.

we added some cinnamon scented pine cones every few minutes.
it smelled exactly like awesome.
and burning.
and cigars.
but it started out smelling exactly like awesome.

like my man popeye, ya'll.
equal parts stink wink and squinkie eye. 
i'm strong to the finish.
and i am also full of cinnamon buns.
i should've maybe skipped the last one,
but then i figured:
being strong to the finish, choosing the wrench, bringing the thunder,
takin' it to eleven, being favored by fortune for being bold,
& hatin' on that weak-sauce,
i really had no choice.
wouldn't you know it, and doesn't it figure,
i was caught by catchphrases.

yesterday was our buddy jenny's birthday.
we love her.
i was busy being a busy busybody,
and getting fancy license plates,
and didn't mention it here.
happy belated an' all that cupcakes and candles sh!t.
like that crazy lady says, homegirl:
no one belongs here more than you.
))<>((
now come back up and help us move!
(sometimes without the sweet, the bitter's not so bitter, either)


my very special friend paul heads out this mornin'.
i'm grateful for all the burly burlington road trippin',
winter warmth in the form of hot fires, coffees, cigars,
and the most excellent conversations.
gettin' sh!tty news, and vanity plates,
are both better with your buddies around you.
he definitely showed up just in time.
word.


january's over, ya'll.
already.
all you ninjas wanna do me a favor?
buy some of my art.
on the cheap.
how?
email me.
call me.
hell, you can stop over. (just call first, kids, i'm armed to the teeth and hate pop-overs)
i just can't move this much stuff.
i'm serious.
my inconvenience is every art appreciator's good fortune for the next three months.
if you want to know what's up for sale,
hit me up,
and i'll send you the private selection,
first come, first served type action.
battlebeasteleven@gmail.com
do it.


tomorrow, my ninjas,
isn't just a new day.
it's february 1.
B.H.M., my ninjas.
28 days of dark chocolate dopeness.
get ready.
never quiet, never soft....

vanity plates.

it's official.
i'm vain.
anybody surprised?
no?
nice.
i registered my car today.
and i got some fresh new big-business barbarian vanity license plates, too.
guess what they say.
no, really,
guess.
when the non-temporary ones get here,
i'll put up some pictures,
until then,
it's all guesswork on your part.

tomorrow,
my ace homeslice,
the cucch,
heads back to waterbaby central.
and then on to the rainbow state,
whoa,
take it easy cucch's ma,
not the mindstate,
the actual state,
as in:
hawaii, ya'll.
surfin' and volcanoes an' that.
of course,
as always,
he most certainly will be missed terribly.
aloha,
mutha-ucka.
word up.

so what's a measured and appropriate savage stormswept sincere sendoff consist of?
cinnamon buns and preposterous fiery fury.
when?
tonight.
how awesome?
all the way to eleven.
enough typing.
hangin' out needs to recommence.
get busy livin',
or get busy dyin'.
wu-TANG!! my ninjas,
never quiet, never soft....

anything could happen...

...but it usually doesn't.

i'm sayin',
if snow days mean anything can happen,
then what do abominable blizzard days mean?
how about:

climbing trees?
my long, simian, ape-hangin' arms are good for a few things, my ninjas.

carrying faggots?
dry branches, fresh off the trunk of a hemlock,
delivered fresh and in full effect to the barbarian pyre pit.
that's word.

ten-tiered smoky no-joke fires?
snow turns into water which hates fire,
and starts a fight with wood,
which when wet hates fire,
which normally loves wood.
(that's what she said)
ok then,
how about wet-legged, numb fingered, stinky stogie stoking?
after all,
if you can't smell your flaming firespit,
you can smell like inflamed fire sh!t.
word.
what about nonstop sore back brokeback near-insurmountable shoveling?
after the plow guy comes by just to somehow make it even worse?
yeah,
anything could've happened,
but mostly, the same ol' stuff is what did.
still,
since the woodsly goodness repays gratitude and generosity in kind,
i can honestly say the day was lived well.
in spite and defiance of the dopeness-dampening dismalness of the doo-doo buttery unfortunate series of unfolding events in other news.
after all,
what's more important than
good peoples, good food, good times, 'the princess bride', wii golf,
and all that other woodsly and/or good stuff, anyways? 


jess condensed the dvd collection,
again.
we have cases and cases of caseless dvds,
so she added the still-jacketed ones into the mix.
it saves space, ya'll.
a whole holy helluva lotta space.
which we need,
now that we've gotta hit the road.
lemme tell ya:
i am not psyched about moving.
at all.
packing up all your stuff,
and then getting rid of so much other stuff,
and then finding out you need so much other 'nother stuff.
and then finding a rent,
or buying some land,
or getting a stupid flippin' mortgage,
and then deciding if it hurts your butthole less to stay at your old work,
where you get screwed every single day by people you know,
or,
to find a new place to work and get screwed every day by strangers.
everybody who's ever moved knows what's up.
headaches, heartaches, backaches, maybe even toothaches.
unlike a snow day,
moving day can only ever happen one way:
never quiet, never soft.....

gluttony, in stereo.

two friends on a mission:
gastrointestinal gluttony,
righteous, riotous, full-blown digestive ragnarok.
a test of fortitude,
a rite of culinary appreciation taken to eleven.
f* the chopsticks, i'll just use the wrench;

^wasabi peas and tamari peanuts.
technically, you don't order this stuff,
but in order to document the epic-scale gluttony of two people,
it helps to record all the comestibles.

^sichuan spicy cucumber.
this is important, even though it is somehow $7 of one cucumber.
it's important because it is mostly water, but still food.
so instead of drinking so much water, taking up room where food could go,
when you get thirsty, you just eat a little tiny bite of this, instead.
it is so cold, and so spicy.
we had a battle plan, ya'll.
believe it.

^red oil dumplings.
they fill your mouth up almost too much to chew,
but they are flavor grenades.
which means:
one dumpling.
one bite.
taste explosion.
word.

^mock eel.
i know, it sounds hard.
but it is totally and completely amazing.
shiitake mushrooms, sticky brown stuff, and some friedness.
no dead ocean tastes.
at all.
only awesomeness in every single bite.

^dry fried string beans with seitan flecks.
everything that can be made vegan has a circle v on the menu.
this is one of the bestest and tastiest.

^steamed scallion bread.
usually a big fluffy bomb of  doughy stomach space-invading would be a bad idea.
yum4tumtasticness, however, is made out of bad ideas turned smart.
chopsticks are bad for scoopling up the bits and specks of stuff on your plate,
but buns are like giant flavor sponges,
and they are sticky.
specks, flecks, bits, and sauces get trapped up,
sopped up,
and then ate up.

^gold coin vegetables.
traditional new year's item, ya'll.
other than a coupla baby corns disguised in batter,
it brought the noise.
perfect big mouthfuls of tempura terrificness.
this one was for the year of the celestial ox, my ninjas.
we ate it anyway.

^salt and pepper tofu.
it's so salty, and so peppery, and so crispy, and so soft.
you don't notice how full you actually are until ten of these babies hit the rest like a lead anchor.
of course,
you just gotta fight through that weak-sauce,
because there's still one more, ya'll....

^mock general chou's chicken.
seitanic hottness, and barbarian broccoli
don't eat the dried chilis, or you will be revisited by whole meal,
in reverse.
it was so mutha-flippin' good,
i just had to keep packin' it down the ol' gullet...
i could feel my pants stretching as i powered down my share. 

^battlefield carnage.
feast your eyes on the feast.
pacing youself is the key,
otherwise, you get too full, too quickly.
we waited until they served the last two main dishes,
then polished off everything on those plates.
...and just when we polished off the rice,
after waiting to do so until the other stuff was all gone,
in order to not load up on incidentals instead of culinary combatants, y'heard?
we got hit up with one last dish:

^yep.
fortune cookies can f* right off, ya'll,
we cleansed our palettes with citrus,
chugged our waters down,
and waddled out,
full-bellied,
full-hearted,
and full of fully-formed friendship.
we came, we ordered, we ate, we ate some more,
we conquered.
hard.
and then we headed home.
mission accomplished;
never quiet, never soft...

good news. bad news. news.

the bakery is doooooooooooooooope.
the hippies don't have a good sense of humor, though.
when i asked for baby breads,
they though i meant 'not-crusty', or soft insipid sad sauce bread.
i just meant the smallest size of bread,
y'know,
rolls.
despite the lack of mirth,
we still managed to bridge the communication gap,
and get a bag of incredible little rolls.
i got a bangin' ciabatta, too,
as well as a scenic detour through waterbury.

add in my homie, the cucch,
and a double dose of good vibes,
and the road trip was amazing.....
old hip-hop, npr, and some canadian radio helped pass the mountain of minutes.

when we got to downtown burlington,
we attacked the strip with a berserker fury.
paper shops, card shops, tobacco shops, gift shops, art stores, the works.
we also hit up a few chocolate shops.
we hit up the co-op, and got many kinds of vegan sausage.
(that's what SHE said)
we hit up the muddy waters cafe. double amricano. caffeinated.
shaky hands followed immediately thereafter.
we even went to the frog hollow craftsleague.
we hit up pure pop records, and i stocked up on the cure albums.
which will compose an oddly appropriate sad soundtrack to this day.
because,
once we were stuffed beyond human comprehension,
and after seeing a couple of moose, roadside,
and makin' excellent time on the journey home,
i got home to where my heart and my house are,
and got some news:
the furious fortress of woodsly goodness that i've called my base of operations
for the last batch of years,
the riverfront outpost of great northern hottness,
is going on the market,
as in: up for sale,
as in: not available for yearly agreements of temporary residing,
on the day our lease is up in may.
... we have got to leave.
many decisions, ya'll,
lots of packing, too.
it has been really windy,
so i guess the changes and the wars are a-blowin' pretty hard.
nothin' spells out indigestion like vegan chinese food and hard-style information.
what's next?
acceptance of what is, i guess, right?
and then, some serious real life reality,
all around me, it's all really happening.
never quiet, never soft......

road trips, hot fire, a single pebble.

when you've got pipes, cigars, hats, starry nights,
clear skies, rock block cookies, beards, hot fire, and your peoples,
i'm tellin' you....
woodsly goodness was in complete and total flippin' full effect.
i used my swedish firesteel, for added showmanship,
unmatched matchless firestartin' an' that...
and the temperature around the fuego was muy caliente, ya'll.

me, jim, and the cucch.
most probably the first four things you think of,
when you think of savage stormswept viking masculinity
(i counted me twice, yo, for added manliness)

i appreciate my fellow time-spanners and wrench choosers;
now recognize, suckas.

would you drive 3.5 hours each way for chinese food?
no?
well then you've obviously never had a single pebble,
in burlington, vt.
you really should, though,
because it's not like any of that msg-laced, styrofoam,
brown 'n slimy, take-away, fortune cookie,
doo-doo butter ya'll are used to.
and i know ALL about the vegetarian goodness from wherever you are.
still, though, i'm sayin':
it's real fancy.
it's real delicious.
it's pretty much the dopest tasty treat festival you can snack up on.
plus,
on the way to there from here,
the red hen baking company's giant brick oveny hottness is open,
and ready, 
and willing,
to sell me some organic, crusty, naturally-leavened whole grain hottness.
word up.
road trippin' to hippie college icetown,
with lake effect winds,
and heaps of microbrewed organic alcoholism,
no, really;
even the coffee houses serve brewskis, ya'll.
i'm ready for the big action, the big fun, the food co-op, and the big booty big business of burlington.


we watched 'lars and the real girl' last night.
sad and sweet and funny.
at the same exact time.
rarely do i think an entire movie is perfectly cast,
and expertly filmed.
this obviously is one of those times, or i'd not mention it.
haven't seen it yet? get on that sh!t.
f* waitin' for netflix, just go buy it.
c'mon.

we'll probably bring cookies for the road.
double stuff oreos are vegan now.
i'm serious.
they're still gross, and full of doomsday concoction chemical polymer poop sprinkles,
but they're also double stuffed.
some cookies are into that sort of thing, i guess.
road trips, my ninjas.
very necessary.
word up.

never quiet, never soft....

viking flamethrowers.

yeah!
ya'll know what happens when you never ever do any pre-planning for tattoos?
you draw up some on the spot preposterousness! 
berserker barbarian fire-spitters, ya'll.
cover up, in progress!
big DM, and his lovely wife drove up from mass to spend a day gettin' blasted.
hard.
he's like paul bunyan's bigger brother,
and that tattoo is huge.
it used to be some spawn sh!t, which is where the ch-ch-chains come from.
we talked about transformers, alot,
and computer stuff, and robotech,
and a hundred other epic nerd explosions.
and a dude who looked just like jake the snake got tattooed next to us,
and was awesome!!!!
long days of dispensing decrapinated destruction are pretty good.
but only once in a while.
i don't understand that overworkaholic determination.
it's not enough of the awesomeness,
and an overabundance of the doo-doo doings of noisome nuisances with nancypants nuances.

ninjas don't wanna see me work,
ninjas wanna see me LIVE....
plus,
the cucch is up here still,
and we've got big plans for the next few days!
and,
it's a new moon tonight,
and it's flippin' freezin' up here, too,
so,
the battle-beast bonfire has to happen.
dark is not the opposite of light,
it's the absence.
and we're bringin' the bright spot to the woodsly goodness.
tonight,
and every night;
never quiet, never soft....

beaver fever.

dear secret universal plan,
how many beaver skulls are too many?
hahhaha.
just kiddin'around,
thanks again,
love,
xoxoxox,
albie.

no foolin',
i got another 'nother one.
and i am excited.
it's bigger, but also much less grimy,
so they're kinda tied for awesomeness.
i really love animal skulls.
it's not very vegan of me,
but i'll try and muscle on through,
because skulls are dope.
word up.
it's not like i have a giant mounted moose head hanging above the mantle,
....yet.
that's a meerschaum pipe, in it's case behind those bone domes.
sherlock holmes, an' all that age of enlightenment &/or victorian hottness like a mofo.
pipes are laying around all over the place up here.
no wonder they're so prominent in the spirits and memories of the woodsly goodness.....

i love these little guys.
i didn't make 'em.
but still.....
(that's a churchwarden hobbit pipe back behind 'em)
folk artsy hot freshness is what's poppin' these days.
and i am immersing myself in heaps of it.
unfortunately,
all my drawings still look like bubble head cartoons.
ah well,
at least my block printing skills are rising estimably:

too many lines!
that's what the problem has been!
this one really surpasses the last one, i think.
i like it.

i gotta do some serious tatblastin' today.
should be a time, and a half, even.
after that,
i may finally get around to watching 'the princess bride' for the twentyhundreth time.
coincidentally,
i've spoken to at least three of my peoples who ALL quote that movie with skills.
if the sky wasn't always vanilla flavored in the woodsly goodness,
i'd say it was inconceivable.
y'know?
anybody want a peanut?
never quiet, never soft......

sketchy.

yes.
those're a pair of severed swan head armwarmers.
more importantly,
does that scarf look familiar?
how about those eyebrows?
alright, the hair though, yeah?
i'm sorry about the feet... i can't come up with any excuses.
look,
it's not like i plan out what i'm going to draw.
wherever the pencil goes, is where it goes, my ninjas.
the fact that a brief phone conversation can infect my righteous right hand is pretty cool,
even if the outcome isn't gonna be in the final project.
i drew up a giant pile of sketches,
and i'm only feelin' about half of 'em.
mostly,
it's skulls and beards and pipes,
like ghosts of the forest an' that.
my friend jim says he can up the production values,
and take the stuff to his ol' printing shop,
for industrial stapling, edge-trimming,
and the counterpoint to binder's creep,
a.k.a the bane of 'zines everywhere.
"spirits and memories of the woodsly goodness"
get ready.

how many times do i have to say it?
really?
okay,
just once more:
do overs are doo-doo all over.
the same weak sauce that didn't work yesterday?
still gaytarded today.
the new hottness trumps the old bustedness every time.
old bustedness doesn't turn awesome with age.
of course,
the old hottness stays awesome over time, too....
that said,
in the spirit of the good ol' days,
and not the weak-sauce whining of yesteryear,
my special buddy,
my wingman,
my ace homeboy,
the cucch,
is comin' up today!
i'm makin' rock blocks!!
we're makin' screen prints!!!
and lightin' sh!t on fire!!!!
and vegan doughnuts better be on the schedule somewhere, too.
i'm sayin'.
not often enough do i have visits from my really-real ninjas.
y'know,
i'm not exactly nearby any of my back-in-the-day peoples.
but,
being a hermit implies isolation and loneliness,
so i'm still so much more interested in being a guru.
because then i'm not living too far away,
i'm residing in a clandestine destination designated for dispensing dopeness.
the woodsly goodness.
it's got all you need:
the woods. and the goodness.
i've been building up this fortress of freshness for six years now.
part mad scientist's lab, part sherlock holmes' study, part wizard's tower, and part barbarian battle-beast armory.
still, it somehow feels even more like home when it's filled up
with flavorful followers of the secret universal plan.
another day, another year, another segment of new hottness.
i'm grateful for every turn of the wrench.
time-spanners, ya'll.
never quiet, never soft.....

spirits and memories.

that's the big action, ya'll.
i'm workin' hard on a batch of little bitty drawings,
and so is the more talented and more beautiful sweet lovely one, jess.
if i don't f* it up,
it looks as if it's gonna be pretty dope.
'spirits and memories of the woodsly goodness'.
eleven drawings each, by me and my honey,
and a few aberrant collaborations, too.
i've been away from folksy art makeyness for a while,
and while the unfinished battle beasts hold a special place in my brains,
the woodsly goodness is the whole point.
so we're makin' moves.
hard.
my fingers are already cramped.
here's a hint as to content,
at least for my half:
beards, axes, wood, leaves, nuts, pipes, fire.
try not to be too surprised.
word.
i'm only making eleven copies,
in 3 different colorways,
for a total of 33 finished minibooks.
if you want one,
you'd probably do well to tell me sooner than later.
and since i'm keepin' one of each,
that's only thirty available as far as ya'll are concerned..
signed, numbered, sealed, an' all that fancy business.
also,
i have a few prints from wednesday's cork block bonanza,
in case any of ya'll are interested.
lemme know, kids,
i can't read minds, y'know.
that's the news,
more later;
never quiet, never soft....

art day.

winter daybreak cloudcover.
that's the palette for this guy.
he'll most likely be part of a whole bigger picture eventually,
maybe tomorrow, even. or tonight.
i haven't collected enough trash from the recycling bin yet.
i can't seem to figure out how to paint worse.
i mean, i'm not very skillful,
but it's still never coarse enough for my tastes.
practice makes more imperfect is what i'm hoping.
anyways,
i can honestly say i didn't see creativity in my future when i woke up.
i can't ever tell when the art makey-ness is gonna hit.
i wasn't expecting it yesterday,
but in between naps and other things,
and since jess was in the painting zone already,
i kinda got into the spirit as well.
and after my lil' cloudcover moth,
i got even more busy,
with these:

yep.
it's a rose. another one, actually.
i'm vibin' on those leaves,
and the sorta-sunburstie pattern of the background.
i don't know exactly how it goes to eleven,
but i believe it.
cork blocks are pretty soft.
waaaaaay softer,
and less expensive than linoleum.
and they're brown, instead of grey,
which is a positive in my book, anyway.
now,
speaking of pros and cons,
i don't know if it's a plus or a minus,
but i can't ever seem to make art that doesn't look like i made it.
it all ends up looking stylistically similar,
no matter the medium.
...like when john malkovich goes into the little room and ends up in his own head.
malkovich, malkovich!.....
that said,
here's another one:

uh-huh.
a bearded weirdie with a pipe and some veggies.
Folk Life folk art dictates it's own subject matter, ya'll.
those are supposed to be cabbages on the bottom.
you knew that, though, didn't ya'll?
beards, hats, pipes, ridiculous overlong simian arms.
Q.: am i ever NOT doing modified self-portraits?
A.:nope.
i like that little carving scoople thing.
and the bloppity glops of block printing ink.
turns out, simple printmaking is kinda fresh...
who wants to come over and make some?
c'mon,
we'll make a little booklet, with a purple cover, and a lacey doily on it.
and call it 'prints and the revolution',
i'm already here,
and i'm already ready already.

it's thor's day, my ninjas,
and i'm all up in the loud-ass thunderclaps,
and hard-stylin' face slaps,
and weak-saucy b!tch sap that that entails.
i'm goin' to job,
i'm doin' the crossword puzzle,
i'm eatin' some crusty baguette,
i'm keepin' it grit-grimey and dirt dirty,
and this is the 300th entry, ya'll.
it's only 8 a.m. and i've vanilla sky cultivated too many coincidences already.
i don't know how it stays a secret universal plan,
when it's so busy being
never quiet, never soft....

the hookup.

is this SO flippin' awesome??
(i already know the answer.)

my client, kevin, brought it over to me from his homestead in maine.
he found it over the summer whilst canoeing, and thought of me!
punningly enough,
he was fishing for chub when he used some long wood to poke the wet beaver.
which is exactly the way it should be.
saving skeletons for your skin scribe?
nice!
he's pretty cool, and his beard is one of the top ten i've ever seen,
no foolin'.
he's the guy who has this:

word.
thanks, manly-bearded beer afficionado from down east!

today,
my close friend steve gillespie turns 39 long, hard, cruel years old.
ouch.

lookin' good though........right? 
at least he still dresses like a teenager.
he's a good guy, a good tatzapper, and a good friend;
even though he forgot XI-mas, new year's, and MY birthday.....
he likes beers, ya'll. and massachussetts.
so it kind of figures. 
he was up slumlording in the mount washington valley,
so we took him out for delicious, expensive, organic pizzas,
at flatbread,
where we got the fattie boombattie hookup,
courtesy of the gratitude and generosity of some homies up in there.
so hard, and so good.
thanks, corporate hippies!!
then,
after our delicious dinner,
we went to the not-as-dope-but-open-later coffee shop,
where the chamber of commerce was having a surprise benefit thingie!
free coffees? sure.
free non-vegan pastries and cookies an' all? thanks, but no thanks.
free beer and champagne? c'mon.
curiously,
white mountain tattoo is a member of the c.o.c.,
but i don't recall us getting a notice about the soiree,
and although technically we were representing the studio,
just by showing up,
nobody seemed pleased that we'd unknowingly crashed the party.
i would've been more concerned,
but i was too busy drinking an otherwise usually overpriced soy latte.
decaffeinated, naturally. take it easy.
it tasted like burnt toast and burnt espresso, simultaneously.
so it was pretty much worth every penny i didn't have to pay.
thanks, disapproving cheap-suited business people of northern new hampshire!

not that you asked,
or care about the machinations of my lower intestines,
but i think i may have overdone the coffee and the soymilk and the pizza.
8 shots of espresso in 8 hours?
red sauce, red tomatoes, roasted red peppers, red onions, crushed red pepper flakes?
burnt battle beverages?
you'd think i would know better...
y'know,
when most people smoke a bowl,
illicit, marginally decriminalized substances are involved.
today, it seems, i'm also smoking a bowl,
as in: murdering it.
or at least leavin' it smokin'.
it's not an inside-out glass bubbler, either,
it's porcelain.
too much is the right amount, huh?
right.
so much for knowledge and experience.
wrench-choosers can't resist;
i sh!t hot fire.
never quiet, never soft.....

4 more years of having a president.

zak and his barely legal ladyfriend kari came in yesterday to get beat up on.
hours and hours of ribs and underbellies gettin' blasted into submission.
it made for a full day.
for sure.
i almost felt bad about how much punishment i dished out, too.
almost.
c'mon.
dollars is dollars, my ninjas.
and pity don't pay the bills unless you're mr.T.
also, don't be fooled by that well-buffed, plucked, and waxed midriff and low-rise denims.
it's partly a trick of the lens, ya'll,
and partly a byproduct of a 'planet fitness' membership...
that's zak up there.
in person he's very manly.

today marks an important milestone in the willingness of americans to be dumb.
the obamanable bro-man is about to step up and take a turn at waffling through 4 years of mid-stream horse-changin', feel-good babypants lameness...
complete with a star-studded stupid 'splosion of splendor and all that.
does anybody else see the epic razzle-dazzle doo-doo butter being dispensed?
we're livin' "idiocracy", muth-uckas. never has a bad movie predicted so much so accurately.
it's like the superbowl of politics.
and since when does change begin with a spectacular debacle?
i mean, lincoln's inaugural bible?
come the f* on, ya'll.....know your history, for cryin' out loud.
ahhh, well,
at least cuba looks to be getting a bit of real estate back.
raul is probably psyched it's happening on his watch, y'know?
take THAT, fidel!

and now that george w. bush is out,
according to the delusional euphoria of americans countrywide,
by tomorrow everything turns magically delicious.
arctic ice refreezes, snow falls on kilimanjaro, jobs pop up from out of nowhere,
american cars all become hybrids, and on and on and on....
hope and reality are rarely in the same room at the same time.
anybody ever get busy reading derrick jensen?
he's kinda rad.
hope is the worst ailment of civilization?!!
wu-TANG!!! that's a hard style, my ninjas.
don't get me wrong,
i'm gonna go get an inaugural coffee this morning;
a white[house]chocolate mocha latte. decaf. as in, all flavor, no power.
(please feel free to add on your own complex pessimistic metaphor).
also, instead of hope or change, i'll probably just get soymilk.

back up here in the woodsly goodness,
the arm's-reach regency of my own five-foot bubble remains unchanged.
my own gnarly nation-state is still uncharmed, alarmed, unharmed, and heavily armed.
a perpetual declaration of independence is issued incessantly by the secret universal plan.
check it out:
the sun is out.
the sky is clear.
i'm ready for more of the good life.
real life.
Folk Life.
the kind of hottness that defies pledges of allegiance,
and instead relies on wrench-choosing acceptance.
i won't succumb to the sedentary, celebratory sad sauce,
no matter how sparkle-magic the sideshow.
i won't settle for less than eleven,
despite the general consensus that the hope-heavy denial of reality is what's poppin'.
i'm still reppin' knowledge and experience,
spirit and memory,
y'know;
wisdom.
what is.
fortune's bold berserker battle-bards can't, don't, & won't stop.
never quiet, never soft.....

F.T.P.

transparent flames. so dope.
the snow is deeper than the fire pit.
i had to dig out a path and a patio.
well worth the effort, of course.
woodsly goodness is it's own reward.

gettin' snowed on.
while stayin' warm.
while puffin' a fuerte fuente.
while being wet.
that's what magical midwinter meditation looks like.

it's civil rights day.
at least, up here.
the rest of the country (besides utah and arizona) are having martin luther king jr. day,
and new hampshire doesn't really care.
which is pretty lame, sad, weak-sauce.
especially when you get a free day off!
the post office is closed.
the banks are closed.
but cracker-ass new hampshire won't give any proppers to mr. M.L.K.j.
that's hard hearted-hate right there.
and what's worse,
i don't even know if school is cancelled up here.
if it IS, it's probably because of all the snow.
which, by the way, is white.
i can't hang out with that kind of babypants idiocy.
that's why i'm reppin' my favorite three letter arrangement;
F.T.P.
fight the power.
f* tha police.
free the panthers.
for the people.
and of course, the number one answer:
F*ck the plowguy!!!
hard.

he's gotta be accruing some type of cosmic rectal breach of biblical proportions.
do unto others? he'd better flippin' hope not.
c'mon,
what would a super awesome snowday be without the following day delivering not only an incredible, outrageous, whopping $240 bill, for services (poorly) rendered,
but also yet another of the whole wide world's sh!ttiest plowjobs?
i wish botfly larvae upon him.
it's not often you get to enjoy the privilege of paying too much,
AND having to finish the job yourself.
awesome.
it never gets old. waitaminit.............
***HOLY SH!T!!- he's here again!
...and gone again before i could even move my car!!!
oh man!,
now it's not just botfly larvae anymore,
i also wish cavities and root canals as well. word.
-that's some real life documentation, ya'll.
it's all really happening as i type, even....
this dude deserves a hate crime.
on civil rights day, even.
F.T.P.
follow the link, & turn up the public enemy;
never quiet, never soft........